


Scars

by tupti



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Says "Hmm", Hand Job, Idiots in lust, M/M, S01E03, Scars, wet!Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tupti/pseuds/tupti
Summary: How did the song about Geralt's scars originate?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 124





	Scars

Jaskier stared at the empty pages of his notebook, tongue sticking out in concentration, but his head was completely blank. He couldn’t think of a single line, let alone the epic he had been determined to write when he sat down. Just… nothing.

Roach shuffled around beside him.

“Would you stop doing that?”

She looked at him without any expression at all and then continued to nibble at some grass, unperturbed by the bard’s outburst.

He sighed and was about to get back to work, when Geralt entered the scene. He had been bathing in the river (Jaskier shivered just thinking about sticking a toe in the ice cold water) and now came back to camp stark naked. His wet hair was combed back from his face and beads of water ran down his glistening chest.

Jaskier dropped his pencil, his notebook and his jaw. Was he staring? He was probably staring. But goddamnit… How couldn’t he?

“What?”, Geralt growled.

“Erm…” The bard coughed and hastily gathered his things. “You know… I… I’m just…” He fidgeted with his pencil. “You know, I’m going to write a song about your scars.” Yes! Perfect explanation.

“Hmmm.”

“Alright, not the exuberant appreciation I had hoped for, but close enough. So, erm, pray tell…” Jaskier tried to swagger up to Geralt nonchalantly and Roach neighed in what sounded like amusement. He breathed deeply. “How did you acquire this beauty?” He gingerly put the tip of his index finger on a silver strip of skin on Geralt’s chest, just across his right ribcage.

The Witcher slapped his hand away. “Kikimora.”

He walked past him towards his pile of discarded clothing and Jaskier spun around and followed.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Hmm.”

“I need the details, Geralt!”

The Witcher bent down to pick up his shirt, but Jaskier snatched it just before he could reach it.

“Jaskier!”

The bard hopped backwards a few feet. Geralt tried to grab him, but what his musical companion was lacking in strength he made up in agility.

“I’ll make you a deal”, he chirped. “Your shirt in exchange for the details.”

“You know I have other shirts.”

“Geraaalt!”, Jaskier whined and put on his best pout. “Come on, you _know_ that my songs get you at least half your contracts, if not more. I need input! I need inspiration!”

The Witcher sighed. “You’re a bard. Aren’t you supposed to make things up?”

Jaskier came a little closer again, but made sure to keep out of Geralt’s reach. “Yeah, but there’s poetry and then there’s authenticity. You can’t manufacture authenticity. So, come on.” He came a bit closer again, leaned towards the Witcher and winked. “No need to be coy.”

Did he imagine it or did Geralt actually blush? Before he could get a better look, the Witcher shook his head and sprayed the bard with ice cold water from his hair.

“Geralt!”

The hint of a smile graced the Witcher’s face. “Fine then. I was in a swamp, there was a Kikimora. I killed it.”

Jaskier crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Seriously? Seriously, Geralt? That is what I am supposed to work with? Is it really too much to ask to…”

He was interrupted when Geralt sprang towards him and grabbed the shirt. The bard held on for dear life, so that all the Witcher achieved was to pull him close. Really close.

Jaskier was tightly pressed against Geralt’s chest. The dampness seeped through his shirt and moistened his own skin. His mouth went dry and his eyes big. He felt the Witcher’s agitated breath on his cheek, felt his ribcage rise and fall against his own. His hands started to shake and he let the shirt go. He stumbled backwards, but Geralt quickly caught him by his arm to keep him steady.

Just as quickly, the Witcher let go again and turned around towards his pile of clothes.

But Jaskier wouldn’t be Jaskier if he was easily discouraged.

“There’s another one.” He approached Geralt and gently, very gently touched a scar on his back. The Witcher breathed out with a sigh at the contact and didn’t back away. Encouraged by this, the bard circled the rough patch of skin with nimble fingers. He swallowed hard. His hands felt so hot, they should have turned the dampness into steam.

“Hmmm…”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, when he heard the Witcher purr. What secret spot had he discovered?

“It was a vampiress.”

The bard’s eyes grew wide. Did he just find Geralt’s _t_ _alk_ -button?

“She was terrorizing a village, targeting firstborn sons, and I…”

The Witcher let out a little moan and Jaskier could feel his pants grow tight. Gods, what was happening? He continued to move his fingers across Geralt’s back, increasing the pressure, massaging tight muscles.

“I lay in wait for her for three nights until I caught her and nailed her to her own grave with a wooden stick.”

“Oh, that is brilliant, Geralt!”

The Witcher startled at Jaskier’s voice as if he had forgotten himself and the world at large. He whirled around and stared at the bard with wild eyes. They stood close, so fucking close, but Jaskier didn’t move an inch. He felt heat radiating off of Geralt and wondered what was going on in his head right now. He seemed confused more than anything.

Then Jaskier noticed. And he didn’t understand why it hadn’t been the first thing he had noticed.

There was an erection pressed into his thigh, hot and pulsing. His breath hitched, his face flushed, his hands began to shake. He wanted so badly to look down between them, but instead he looked into Geralt’s eyes. They were both breathing hard and with their chests pressed together Jaskier could feel the Witcher’s erratic heart beat.

When he didn’t back away, Jaskier plucked up his courage to reach between them and started to stroke gently. He still expected Geralt to pull away, expected an outburst, expected anything, really, except… except Geralt sighing, closing his eyes and resting his forehead on Jaskier’s shoulder, burying his face into his neck.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath. “Jaskier… Fuck.”

The bard felt his legs go wobbly and his own pants tightening even more. He dropped to his knees and he felt Geralt’s hand gripping his shoulder tightly, the other buried deep into his hair. For a second he hesitated. There was another scar on the Witcher’s inside thigh and he ran his fingers along that one too. He didn’t ask about it though. He needed his mouth for something else.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm not really practised at writing smut, so this ends here. Sorry.
> 
> Also, this was a spontaneous little idea and is completely unbeta'd (ain't nobody got time for that), so be kind ;)


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